Lady Arabella's Bedchamber
by Roofran411
Summary: This is their second visit to Hazlington, Kate meets his tenants and learns some things about him from them and maybe something about herself


This is the first story I wrote.

In the Shakespeare Retold version of the Taming of the Shrew, Petruchio is not named. To myself, I call him Piers, a sort of modern update. Feel free to call him what you like.

I was amusing myself by imagining how they could be prior to their marriage. How these two spoilt damaged people could save each other. This isn't a story as such, more a fleshing out of the characters and their background and told from Katharine's point of view, maybe memoirs or a diary.

My thanks as ever to Will and Sally, and Rufus and Shirley who brought Petruchio and Kate to life.

The music I hear throughout this is "Fever". It should be sung by a woman because of Kate's telling of it but I think Michael Ball's version has the sophisticated sexuality which fits Petruchio and Kate's feverish falling in love.

Never know how much I love you

Never know how much I care

When you put your arms around me

I get a fever that's so hard to bear.

You give me fever, when you kiss me

Fever when you hold me tight.

Fever in the morning

Fever all through the night.

Everybody's got a fever

That is something you should know.

Fever isn't such a new thing

Fever started long ago.

.

He gives me fever with his kisses

Fever when he holds me tight

You give me fever, when you kiss me

Fever when you hold me tight ,

Fever when you kiss me

Fever, if you live and learn.

Fever, 'til I sizzle

What a lovely way to burn

What a lovely way to burn!

LADY ARABELLA'S BEDCHAMBER

It was my second visit to Hazlington. The first was when we met and he wanted to show me the house, some proof of Identity, proof that he wasn't a fraud.

Not that he needed to. I believed him; every word, from the beginning. But years of politics had made me play my cards close to the chest.

That and...well, being afraid of being hurt, that this might not, I don't know...come to anything, might not work out.

He had put _his_ cards on the table, had asked me to marry him and told me he loved me. I believed him for my own reasons.

Because I wanted to.

Because I wanted to believe that this devastatingly handsome, witty, funny man had fallen in love with me, because I had fallen in love with him.

Not that I had told him this.

As I said I play my cards near to my chest.

So we were getting married in a fortnight's time. We had discussed what we were going to do about Hazlington, what needed to be done and had come down for the weekend to look again at the house.

I had had no Idea of how close the manor and village were; how everyone knew everyone else and their fathers and grandfathers.

We were staying at the village pub which was owned by a couple who had been in school with him and knew him well, very well!

I had made it very clear from the start that there was to be strictly no funny business, so when he asked for separate rooms, it was to the raised eyebrows of the landlady.

Alright! She didn't exactly raise them but I could feel the unseen raised ones and saw her look at him.

Not that he had tried anything, only words...talk, sweet talk, not seducing but "telling me exactly how he felt" talk ...and a few kisses, more than a few but nothing _too_ much.

There wasn't going to be anything like that until we were married.

I have morals; I wasn't going to sleep with anyone until I was married. I have morals, principles, standards, I hardly knew him, and I thought we should wait.

Alright! Who am I fooling?

It wasn't any of these.

I wanted to. Oh, I wanted to, but I am a virgin, a 38 year old virgin and I was afraid. My sexual experience is zilch. _He_ has kissed me more in the last ten days than everybody else in my life. And while I liked it, wanted more, wanted to touch him, hold him. I was afraid.

Me! Me, the scourge of the Prime Minister, who could reduce Cabinet Ministers and back benchers to whimpering wrecks, who terrorised television presenters.

What was_ I_ afraid of?

Of losing control, of committing myself, of that wanting, that shakiness, that persistent throb that happened when I was with him, of everything that I had no knowledge of, of him being disappointed in me, sex.

So here we were at Hazlington.

Yesterday, we had been around to see the tenants, had walked around the grounds and last night we had dinner at the pub, the Hazlington Arms, had sat by a log fire and talked with the landlord and his wife until late.

"Sorry about your Dad." they had said.

He left me at my room door with the softest of kisses and a gentle touch of my hair.

In the morning we went into the Spar to pick some coffee, tea, milk, bread, butter and things. I went to the counter, while he wandered about picking up a few more odds and ends and dumped them in the basket. Bars of chocolate, biscuits, crisps.

"You'll get fat." I said.

"Nah! Cricks don't get fat."

"I'll divorce you if you do." I said tartly.

"Ooh -ho! You marrying me for my body then?"

"What else?"

He leaned on the counter and his green eyes laughed into mine

"Sorry to keep you waiting," The assistant came up.

"Hello, Susan."

"Well, long time no see, Piers" She moved to the door at the back of the shop and called. "Ma! Ma! Come and see who's here."

This tiny old lady came through.

"Well, well, look what the cat's dragged in! Piers Crick! Well I never, it's a long time since you were in here." She bustled around the counter.

"Give us a kiss then."

Well, she was in no awe of the Lord of the Manor but it seemed that no-one else was either.

She hugged him.

"Sorry about your Dad, love. I liked him"

"Yeah, I did too." he said.

"And who's this then?"

This is Kate, we're getting married. "

"And about bloody time too. You'll have your work cut out with him, missy! A bloody little sod he was. Needed a good smack around the ear. Here in the church?"

"Um no. In London."

"Will you be living down here, at Hazlington?"

"Er, we'll be down as much as we can but Kate's job is in London."

"You're Katherine Minola, aren't you?" Susan said. "You know, Ma, the MP off the telly. On Newsnight. Told Jeremy Paxman what she would do to him."

The old lady snorted. " 'bout time somebody did. "

She patted me.

"You'll be O.K with him love, even if he has some funny ways. "

And now we were looking at the house to see what needed to be done.

There was a lot, yet not as much I would have thought. A little work on the roof and repairs where it had leaked but nothing structural.

Not that _I_ knew this, _he_ told me.

Downstairs, the Great Hall and gallery were fine, so was the Lesser Hall; English oak, 400 yrs old, would last another 400. The drawing room, library and study were fine too, shabby but in that beautiful old English shabbiness.

The breakfast room I would like to do something to. The kitchen I loved, the big old fashioned look, needed some more cupboards and electrical goods, fridge, freezer, cooker too, although there was a large Aga.

One of the rooms, the flower room or the gun room, would have to be converted into an office /computer room for me, and the estate office would need sorting out.

Everything needed so much TLC.

We went upstairs. He showed me the attics crammed with four centuries of discarded junk, then the bedrooms, surprisingly most with their own bathrooms.

" My great, great Gran did that, converted them from bedrooms and Granny modernised them a bit."

Again, little shabby perhaps but adding to their charm.

"This was my dad's room. It was his when he was young and he never moved out even after Grandpa died. And this is mine."

We went in. I was curious to see it, to see what it would tell me about him.

Maybe not as large as some of the others, it had painted old panelling, white darkened with age to cream, chests of drawers, wardrobe, bookcases still stuffed with books, jigsaw puzzles, board games, a tranny and an old Dinette record player, records, vinyl and CDs. There was a desk in the window, a huge battered armchair by the fireplace, and a big old wooden bed, impossible to judge its age.

I looked at his books, usual children's books with his name written inside, Piers Crick, Hazlington Manor, Hazlington, Charlbury, Oxon, England, GT. BRITAIN, Europe, the Northern Hemisphere, the World, and the Universe.

And as he got older, an enormous range, Shakespeare, the plays, the sonnets, the classics and poetry, a voracious reader. No wonder he quoted Shakespeare at the drop of a hat. He made no comment and we went along the landing to the last room.

"This is Lady Arabella's Bedchamber" he said opening the door.

There are some lovely rooms in the house but this was the loveliest. A great bay window with latticed panes, a big but delicate four poster bed, built in cupboards with lace curtained glass doors, panelled walls, a white marble fireplace. A dressing table stood in the bay with an old triple mirror, all in the palest greyish green with glimmers of gold, polished oak floor boards with a lovely faded Aubusson carpet.

"Lady Arabella was the wife of the 8th earl, she was beautiful and he loved her, he would give her anything she asked. That's her over the fireplace"

And she _was_ beautiful; and her black curly hair, high cheekbones and sparklingly naughty green eyes had come down to her great whatever grandson. He was very like her.

"She wanted her bedchamber done up and she got it. It cost £8,ooo in early 1700 s. The bills are downstairs somewhere. We've the curtains, bed spread and bed curtains put away, not the originals of course, but copies my great, great gran had made in 1900."

He opened the cupboards.

"Granny had some of shelves taken out and converted to wardrobes but apart from that it's still the same."

He went to a door concealed in the panelling, at the side of the fireplace and showed me a bathroom with cupboards and panelling which matched the bedroom.

"This was her powder room, she had this copper hip bath; it's up in the attic somewhere, we never chuck anything out. Great, great grandmother had plumbing put in and Granny renovated it."

I went back into the bedroom and walked to the window and looked out.

"East facing so it gets the morning sun." he said.

The grounds stretched away in front of me tangled and over grown, neglected, still beautiful even in the fine March mist.

"It's at the back of the house so there would be no noise to disturb her."

I turned and went to sit on the bed and just looked at his lovely room.

"Do you like it, Kate?" he said.

""What's not to like?" I said" It's beautiful"

He sat beside me, the other side of the bedpost.

"The Countesses have always slept here, and the Earls came to visit." He smiled.

"Until my grandfather. They... he and Granny always slept in here, together."

He leaned towards me and kissed my cheek and then down, little butterfly kisses, on my throat, back up still talking, till his lips were at my mouth, little kisses, my bottom lip gently against his and we fell backwards onto the bed and he was still softly nibbling my lip, drawing it softly into his mouth.

Christ! What was happening to me? This uncontrollable shake. Would I always fall apart every time he kissed me?

"Are you trying to seduce me?" I asked, in an attempt to lighten things up. He lifted his head in mock thought, paused,

"Yes!" he said emphatically. "How am I doing?"

"Not very well," I said. "If you have to ask."

"Ohhh, I think I am doing very well." laughter in his voice " After all, technically speaking, you are in my bed and as yet you have made no attempt to get out of it. "

I was up and across the room as if I were catapulted.

"Oh, come on Kate. It was only a bit of a snog,"

"And _I_ know where that leads. I told you... "

"Oh Kate, come on, we _are_ engaged and these days people who are engaged do shag. People who are not engaged shag, even people who don't know each other very well," he was coming towards me now.

"people trapped in lifts do. I would have done it myself the other week, if the lady had been more co-operative."

I was pressed against the wall and he put his hands on either side of me and leaned towards me, very close. I was breathless, shaking and panicking.

"I did say, I told you I wouldn't. "

"Don't you fancy me Kate?" his mouth was so close, I could feel his breath." Not even a little bit?"

His eyes were looking down into mine, at my mouth, a little smile on his.

"I ...I... Well...Yes I...well, yes."

Totally confused not knowing which way to move, wanting, yes, wanting, and I saw his eyes were laughing at me.

He knew what I was feeling. Oh yes, he knew. He knew exactly

"You ...You... Bastard!"

"Not at all, Kate. No, not at all. There is well documented evidence that my father and mother were married." and he was laughing out loud.

I elbowed him hard in his stomach, ducked under his arm past him, and was on my way out of the door, my legs shaking, when he said softly, gently.

"Shall we have it as _our_ bedroom, Kate?"

And I said in a voice not much above a whisper,

"Yes"

He caught up with me and he kissed me behind my ear and we walked down stairs with his arm around me.

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